Raging Bull

Emma sat in a tree at the edge of the pasture and watched the only other living creature she’d seen other than herself and Boy, the dog that followed her across the state. Now, both she and the dog watched the bull in the field and wondered what they should do. Well, Emma wondered. Boy knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to give chase and nip at hooves, but that wasn’t a good idea. The chances of stumbling across a vet were less than zero.

Emma spent her first night in her new home the night before. She slept in a bed with clean sheets and real pillows for the first time in months. She slept behind a locked door, safe, and for that night, she felt nearly normal. Why she would need a locked door was beyond her; it just felt right shooting the bolt home before dimming her lantern and going to bed. Boy curled up on the foot of the bed, laying claim to his domain.

The night was quiet. Even the sound of crickets was missing. Did insects get the flu? Maybe they were seasonal. The only time Emma had ever seen a cricket in person was when her brother bought them to feed to his lizard. Occasionally, one would escape and run loose through the house, making her feel like she was out camping. It was said to be good luck to have a cricket in your house. Emma couldn’t remember where she heard that and wondered if it were true—as a saying, that is—and for once didn’t reach for her phone in a knee-jerk reaction to search Google for the answer. Finally, after months on the road, that itch, that need to reach for her phone like Richard Pryor reaching for the base pipe, was leaving. It was a painful addiction to break, but a necessary one. Every time she had reached for her phone only to find no service, it reminded her with a quick jab to her heart that she was alone.

After a very restful and normal night of sleep, Emma set about writing a list of things she needed to get from town. A shopping list! How normal was that? The very act of creating a project, even one as mundane as shopping, brought joy to her heart. For years Emma had wanted to be different, to stand out, but this was not what she expected. She didn’t want to stand out as one of the few survivors of a very virulent strain of flu. She wanted to go viral because of a Tik-Tok video or something, maybe playing a prank on a friend. She should have been more specific when wanting to achieve something.

Emma needed a good supply of bottled water and would need to keep stockpiling it until she could figure out how to get power to the well pump. That would be her achievement for the day. She planned on taking the cargo cart with her and loading it up with as much water as she could pedal home. Boy could walk this time. She also wanted to find a camp toilet. She knew she could force flush the toilet, but didn’t want to waste good drinking water on that. She was set for food, thankfully, as the basement was filled with home-canned nosh. She had taken another peek after breakfast and found not only fruit and vegetables, but stews, canned meat, canned fish, and even what looked like puddings. She wouldn’t go hungry any time soon. Maybe the next spring she could plant a garden and have fresh food. Emma suddenly realized she was thinking like a person who intended to stay.

“It’s not so bad here, is it, Boy?” Boy looked up and smiled. He liked it here, too.

As Emma attached the two carts behind her bike, she glanced across the field. There was the barn, doors wide open, in the distance. She decided to have a look before going into town for supplies. Maybe there were chickens. Fresh eggs would be incredible. Oh, what she could do with eggs!

Boy ran ahead, crashing through the tall brown grass, then bounding back to her side again. His mouth was wide open, tongue hanging out, grinning as he ran. He seemed to sense that they were home. Or maybe Emma just wanted to believe that.

Emma burst through the highest of the grass and walked right into a wooden fence. She was at the pasture. The grass on the other side of the fence was certainly not greener, but it was definitely shorter. Looking out across the field, Emma could see the unevenness of the grass. There were occasional tufts in the field, and closer to the fence, the grass was taller. Still scanning, Emma finally found the reason why.

Across the pasture, at the far end closest to the marigold fields, stood a cow. Or maybe it was a bull. It was too far away to see details, but she thought she saw some hanging bits in back. The animal was enormous, bigger than she ever imagined bulls could get, but then again, you didn’t come across bulls in the city too often, and she was nothing if not a city girl. The cow/bull was chocolate brown, and Emma thought briefly of her stay in the candy store where Boy first came to her. The beast’s tail twitched at flies. Of course, there were still flies.

Slowly, the animal turned and saw Emma.

By this time, Emma was climbing the low fence, intending to enter the pasture. Surely this was a pet, right? She quickly changed her mind as the bull tore through the pasture, charging her. It was an impressive sight. Dust kicked up in small clouds on either side of the giant beast, and Emma could see his muscles working beneath the chocolate-brown hide. His head lowered to the ground, horns pointed directly at her, his eyes locked on her. Emma expected to see fire or smoke coming from his nostrils like in the cartoons. The pounding of his hooves shook the very ground she was standing on, and she froze.

What finally kicked her into action was feeling Boy trying to push past her to the fence. He intended on meeting that bull (she could see it was a “he” by this time) in the middle of the field. Mighty though he was, and brave, he was no match for a bull.

“No!” Emma stepped back off the fence and snatched the little dog up in her arms. She turned and fled into the tall grass, diving behind a tree. She didn’t know if the fence would hold and thought about climbing the tree but stayed crouched where she was. Could bulls jump?

Emma cringed behind the tree, afraid to move, squeezing Boy so hard he yelped and struggled to be free. She waited for the crash of boards, the splintering of the tree she was using for cover—some sign that she was about to die. She heard nothing. Slowly, she peeked around the tree and saw the bull lumbering back across the field. Apparently, as soon as she was out of sight, he lost interest.

Quietly, Emma made her way around the pasture, using the tall grass for cover, working her way to the barn. If she could get into the barn, she might be able to close the big doors and take stock in safety. There was no way, though, to get to the barn without crossing the field, other than circling to the back and hoping the bull didn’t come by just as she was sprinting to the barn. She didn’t even want to try.

Emma made Boy sit at the foot of the tree as she climbed. She needed a better look.

From what she could see, Emma thought the bull was trapped in the pasture. There was a small creek that bordered the far fence, but other than that, as far as she could see there were fields of flowers and no other animals. This guy had probably survived off grazing and water from the creek. Emma could see a spot along the fence that was leaning forward. Several of the boards were cracked and some were broken through. But the bull had remained. Maybe he didn’t know he could leave. Maybe he didn’t want to.

And there lie the dilemma. Emma couldn’t have an angry bull as a neighbor. She had no way of feeding it, and the grass would eventually run out. Besides, there had to be more to taking care of a bull than just feeding it. She had no intention of trying to befriend it, either.

What was she going to do with him, then? She thought about shooting him. Maybe she could get some fresh meat. All she had was her 9-mm Glock, and she had a feeling that she needed something with more oomph. The idea of trying to butcher him didn’t sit well with her, either. She had no idea where to begin. It wasn’t like she could go to the local library and pick up a copy of Butchering for Dummies, and she already knew Google wasn’t an option.

The only other thing she could think of was setting him loose. She could probably sneak around to the gate and open it. He’d leave, eventually. The biggest problem with that solution was if he was running around free, then she could meet up with him at any time. He could even end up at her house. Boy would never be safe, and neither would she. It was looking more and more like she needed to find a gun with enough kick to kill him. She just hoped she could do it cleanly, and she hated the idea of letting the meat go to waste. Besides, he was a survivor, just like she was. Emma couldn’t imagine surviving just to be killed by the first human that came along.

Emma climbed down the tree, intending to head back to the house and look for a rifle. She really had no other choice that she could see. She just needed to make sure she had enough firepower to kill him outright. There had to be something at the house. It was a farmhouse, after all. Didn’t farmers keep weapons around to chase away wolves or whatever? They did in Little House on the Prairie.

Hanging from the bottom branch, Emma let go just in time to catch movement at the barn door. It was another animal. This one was smaller, redder in color, and didn’t have horns. It was a cow. It was milk and cheese and maybe even coffee with cream! It looked like Ferdinand was just looking out for his lady. Emma ran back to the house.

She’d need to make two trips, one for water for herself, and one for feed for the livestock. She would work on gaining Ferdinand’s trust when she got him bull treats.

What did bulls like, anyway? Sugar cubes? Carrots? Did they have bags of bovine treats at the local feed store? Emma supposed she’d find out.